Backstage with Her Ex (8 page)

* * *

It was far from that. Other than having to stop every five minutes for Sasha to speak to a friend, a neighbour, a parent of a pupil, a colleague, they managed a lot of laughs and convinced fifteen shopkeepers to display her poster.

‘No one's recognised you yet. Great disguise today, by the way.'

‘I guess no one expects Nate Munro to be ambling down the high street.' He pulled the hoodie more tightly over his head, and pushed the aviator shades back, blending in with the other guys milling around.

Nothing had changed. Sure, the hardware store was now a one-pound shop, the butchers had closed down, more estate agents, a couple of different burger bars, the feel was still very much rundown and shabby. Just as he remembered.

But the sun glinted off the windows; people smiled as they walked by; it was shabby with hope. And that hadn't been there ten years ago. At least he'd never seen it. But he'd been so engulfed by his own private war that he hadn't been able to see past his fists and his anger.

Maybe if he'd looked outside instead of dwelling on the inner pain he'd have made fewer devastating mistakes and even stayed a little longer. Who knew what his life would have been like then? Would he have married Sasha as she'd planned? Would he have ordinary friends he could trust instead of people trampling over him to get what they wanted?

Would he have saved Marshall?

Would Marshall have even
needed
saving? That, he didn't want to think about.

She stopped outside a quaint-looking Italian restaurant. Painted bright red with chipped wooden shutters, windows dressed with café-style net curtains, it looked as if it had been uprooted from Nate's favourite Italian village and plonked down in south London. ‘This place has the best pasta in town. Do you want to come in and wait while I talk to lovely Luigi? He's bound to want to help the choir—he's always such a good supporter of the school.'

‘Lovely Luigi?'

The spike of jealousy that erupted from nowhere must have shown on his face, because she smiled and shoved her hands on her waist. ‘The owner. He's about a hundred.'

No man from the age of five upwards would be blind to Sasha's sunny sensual appeal. He wasn't going to take any chances. ‘Believe me, sweet thing, it doesn't matter what age they are, if they've got it, they'll use it.'

‘Oh, I can manage. I usually fight all those hordes of men off with a stick. But I guess today you'll have to do. Be nice.'

‘Aren't I always?'

‘No.'

Within seconds they were ensconced at a table with a background of soft lilting opera music. Rather, Nate was ensconced, alone, while Sasha's attention was held at the bar by three elderly Italian men. One stared into her eyes and smiled inanely. One poured her a drink of
prosecco
, and Luigi, the elderly patriarch, brought her little tidbits of food to try from the kitchen.

Eventually she meandered over with two glasses of wine and handed him one, her eyes bright. ‘That's eight tickets sold. They're all aware of who you are and they've sworn not to tell a soul that you're here. And they would be honoured to bring you some food, if you have the time.'

Not really but he'd make an exception. He kind of liked the comfortable feel of the place, with no one pressing for his attention or fawning over him. Shucking the hoodie over his head he relaxed into relative anonymity. ‘I'd be honoured to eat it. I love Italian food.'

‘Me too.' She sat opposite him and ran her hands over the dark green plastic tablecloth. ‘I've been saving to go on a trip to Italy one day. Luigi has given me lists of all the best things to do and how to discover the places where the locals eat in Florence and Siena. Apparently they're a well-kept secret.'

‘You just need to know who to ask. Usually a bit of grappa works as a bribe.'

‘You seem to know a lot about it. Have you been to Italy?' She laughed. ‘Stupid question, really, you've probably been everywhere and I must seem like a Hicksville country cousin.'

‘There's nothing Hicksville about living in South London. It's more like the wild west. I'm sure you'll get to Italy one day, Sasha. Of all the people I know, you are the one who always achieved what she set out to do.' Without any cut-throat, malicious back-stabbing too. She manoeuvred with ease, making sure everyone else was comfortable and safe too, rather than grasping for what she wanted, regardless. ‘You just haven't had the breaks I've had. I've been very lucky to travel the world. Even if I did see most of it from a hotel window.'

‘Well, Italy's on my bucket list. It would be a perfect start, especially if they have food like this.' She tore off a piece of bread, offered it to him so naturally, as if caring and nurturing ran in her blood. His heart snagged at the tender gesture. Some guy would be lucky to have her as a wife. A family. She completed that picture.

But not for him. He hadn't been joking when he'd said marriage would be the kiss of death to his career. To his privacy. To the steel he'd constructed around his heart.

He found her a smile of thanks, dipped the bread in a dish of thick dark green olive oil and ate it. It was perfect rustic ciabatta, the like of which he'd only ever had in his local village. The place he told no one about, the only sanctuary he had away from the madness.

And yet suddenly the words were spilling from his lips. ‘I have a place in Tuscany. Unfortunately I don't get to visit very often. I haven't been for a couple of years, what with the tour, filming...' He neglected to tell her he'd had plans to go next week, but had cancelled them for her concert. There would be other times.

After swallowing her bread, she cleared her delicate throat, took a sip of the light sparkling wine. ‘Aren't you more the party-animal type? Isn't Ibiza more your thing?'

‘It was.' He shrugged, suppressing a smile at the chaos of party central and his part in its rise in popularity amongst the celebrity set. ‘For a while. Until I got kicked out.'

‘Really? Why am I not surprised?' Watching the innocent shock in her eyes was pure delight.

He laughed and felt the warm relaxation that only decent food and good company could bring. Something that had been missing from his life for too long. When he got back to Malibu he was definitely sacking the chef. Too much raw organic food made a man go quietly insane.

‘I had a few more-than-wild parties, caused some damage. They wanted to ban me but I make them far too much cash. Mind you, they have to spend a lot too. Driving cars into pools takes some paying for.' He leaned back in his chair, stretched his legs under the table. ‘I'm getting just a little tired of that.'

Her brows knotted. ‘Nate Munro tired of partying? Is the world coming to an end? What will the papers be full of now? Proper news?'

‘Hey, I'm just a little bored of the same old scene, on the lookout for something new, the next big thing. I'm not ready for my pipe and slippers yet.'

‘Slippers. Ah, yes. Somehow I just can't see you in woolly tartan.' The smile she gave him was gentle and wistful, as if she was enjoying her own private joke. ‘So, tell me about the delightful Jasmine.'

He didn't want to talk about himself, and definitely not about Jasmine. He wanted to find out about Sasha, what made her tick now, what she liked to do. Just listening to her sweet soft voice soothed his aching head.

And watching her mouth as she talked almost drove him mad with desire. Each moment he didn't touch her was a study in self-control. But he was running out. Fast.

‘My ex? My wannabe wife. Nothing to say really. She subscribes to the take, take, take, mantra. She always wants more. And it's never enough.' Or he wasn't enough. Jasmine had thrown back at him one too many times that he was missing the human connection gene.
You have to give a little, Nate.
Seemed she didn't just mean his credit card.
‘We dated, moved in together for a while. Then she left me, fleeced me but I'm still her fall-back guy, should her master plan to hook an even more rich and famous sucker not work out.'

The little frown lining Sasha's forehead dipped. ‘And yet you smile and talk to her like she's so important to you.'

‘She's Dario's little sister. I have to show respect.'

‘Ah.'

‘It's complicated.'

‘Is there anything about you that isn't?'

‘Probably not. Things get incestuous out there. Everyone's connected to somebody. Or wants to be. Or tries to be.' He grinned at her rapid blink. ‘A long time ago Dario helped me when I needed someone. Upshot is, I owe him a lot.' And now he'd said way too much about his private life and still knew nothing about hers. But that was her through and through: she gave a little, but never quite enough. Now, why did that have a familiar ring to it? ‘What about you?'

‘Me? Oh, I don't owe Dario anything.'

He snorted into his wine. ‘Be gentle with me, Sasha. That sharp wit could pierce a man's heart. You know what I mean—what about your life?'

‘Oh, okay.' She winked. ‘Let me think...I have no minder, no significant ex who fleeced me. I have no houses in Italy and the States...'

‘No boyfriend? Husband? Secret baby?'

‘If I told you about the baby, it wouldn't be secret then, would it?' At his frown she shrugged. ‘Okay, there's no baby.'

‘And husband?'

‘Ah...' Waving her hand nonchalantly she flashed a serene smile. ‘Number one was lovely but secretly gay, but we had a lot of fun shopping. Number two...' She sighed and put a hand to her chest. ‘Tragic. Number three—'

‘Wait! What? Number three?'

‘Come on, Nate. Please. I have no babies. No husbands, ex or otherwise. This is Chesterton not California. And this is me, Sasha, schoolteacher, not your average pack-a-whole-lifetime-in-before-you're-twenty-one Hollywood starlet. After you left town I finished school, went to uni. I haven't found Mr Right yet—he's strangely elusive. Or maybe I'm just too picky.'

‘Well, that's a relief.'

‘Why?'

Yeah. Why? It was none of his business who she'd slept with or what her marriage plans were. But for some reason he wanted to kick her Mr Right into touch. ‘You're far too young to settle down.'

She shot him a look of amusement. ‘You need to talk to Cassie then. She thinks I'm over the hill and that I need to find a husband quick, before I get too old and no one would want me.'

How could anyone not want her? The V in her top drew his gaze. Tiny pearl buttons ran over the swell of her breasts and he wondered how easy it would be to pop them open. One. By. One. And once undone, what would he find underneath? Lace? Silk?

His brain filled with a sexual haze. His voice was rough as he spoke. ‘Well, make sure you don't rush into anything. Take your time.'

‘What? Relationship advice, from you? That's a hoot.' She laughed. ‘But don't fret, I'm never one to rush into things. I like to take things slow and steady. You probably think my life is deathly boring but I like it.'

Boring? Most definitely not, but he knew her well enough not to push the subject. Sasha had lived through more trauma than most other people he knew. Her father's suicide had been a bolt out of the blue, which she always flatly refused to talk about. It was only when other friends had mentioned it at school that he'd found out. Even then, the details had been sketchy. That she hadn't trusted him enough to confide had bitten hard. ‘Hey, it's your life, live it how you like. I do.'

‘And we all know how well that works out. Meanwhile, I stick to my life plan.' Her mouth tipped into a smile that he wanted to taste.

Kissing her would be very bad. And so damned good. But he'd promised. ‘But it is such a waste.'

‘Of what?'

‘All that brain-power spent on graphs and spreadsheets. So...linear and neat and ordered. When you could be thinking up ways to spend your time more...messily...' He leaned closer, watched the flush on her cheeks, imagined her breathless and spent in his bed, her legs wrapped round him. ‘Messy is good. Messy is better than good. I could show you some time.'

‘Er...no thanks. I'm busy...For ever.' She coughed mid-fluster, tapping her hand against her cheek, the composed act failing. She was anything but. How easy would it be to strip her back to the hot woman he'd had in his arms on the edge of dirty sex? ‘Then, once I qualified I came back here, got my job at Chesterton High and bought my small but perfectly formed flat in the new development on Fairlie Street. I've come full circle.'

‘In more ways than one.' He smiled at her confusion as his fingertips brushed against hers. A shot of electricity shot through him as skin met skin. ‘You. Me. Us.'

She withdrew her hand immediately, leaving a cold breath of air in its wake. ‘Oh, no. No, Nate. Please, don't even think that. There can't be any
us
.'

EIGHT

Brilliant. Nate's stomach
plummeted.
Good shot, Mr Superstar.

He'd met presidents and royalty, given speeches and interviews, but had never been tongue-tied by a schoolteacher before.

‘Don't get the wrong impression.' Now she'd think he was a nut-job with his spectacular slip of the tongue. ‘I meant, it's funny us sitting here in a café in Chesterton after all these years...'

‘I see.' She didn't look convinced. And neither was he. He was rattled. He didn't do this. Assumptions, jealousy, possession. What was happening to him?

Before he could explain further Luigi interrupted with plates laden with antipasto, delicious bite-sized chunks of artichokes, glistening plump olives, spicy salami, salty prosciutto. And a jug of dark earthy
chianti classico
. More aromas of garlic and herbs spilled from the kitchen, elemental and sensual. Now he'd have to stick around and worm his way out of embarrassment.

‘Eat. Eat. Please,' Luigi pleaded as he fussed around them, squeezing his large belly between the tables. ‘There is more coming for my new friend, Nate Munro. And bella Sasha.'

Bella Sasha. That was her in a nutshell. Beautiful. Confident in her own space, and modest. She even had the ancient Luigi eating out of her hand.

‘There is one thing, though.' She leaned forward, her words hesitant, as if she was trying to work out the right thing to say. ‘I'd like to talk to you about Marshall, to say how sorry I was about his death. I heard from one of your mum's neighbours, and then I heard about her death a few weeks later too. I wanted to send something or to write to you, even go to their funerals, but everything was so private and I didn't want to impose. Marshall was such a joy to know. Everyone loved him.'

Not everyone. But Nate didn't want to go into that now. Regardless of how Sasha made him feel, wanting her in his bed was very different from trusting her with the part of his heart he kept sealed off. The image he'd carefully constructed to keep everyone from knowing the real Nate Munro was too ingrained in him now.

But he could give her a little. Any more than that and he didn't know if he'd be able to stop. ‘Yeah. It was a difficult time. If only I...'

She frowned. ‘What do you mean? What happened?'

Too late. Pain twisted inside him. ‘Nothing.'

A fraught silence hovered between them as she waited for him to explain. When he didn't, she sighed. ‘It's okay, I get the picture—you hurt too much. You must miss him terribly.'

He could be upfront about this at least. ‘I do. It's like an ache that doesn't go away.'

He'd landed a kid in Intensive Care, lost the respect of his school, the love of his girlfriend, and then the life of his beloved brother and mother. All because he'd had a stupid inflated sense of self-belief.

‘Hey, but I certainly mourned them in spectacular fashion. That self-destruct button jammed hard and fast, taking every cliché to excess: wine, women. And the songs. Introspective and pathetic.' Shrugging, he laughed. ‘Gotta love that minor key.'

‘But heartfelt and eerily haunting. Truthful.'

‘It doesn't matter. It won't right all the wrongs—it won't change the decisions I made, the stupid stuff. It won't bring him back.' The stab to his heart was tight and sharp.

‘If it's any consolation, I know how you feel, Nate. It's like...like a light has gone out in your soul.'

For a second his mask almost slipped as he looked up and saw the tears swimming in her eyes. Her hand touched his as she fought to control the wobbling lip. His hurt was all mixed up with the loss of her father.

And he fought to breathe through the weight pressing in on his chest. He didn't do this. Open Pandora's box and let his emotions out, not when he had no idea how to shut them off again without a struggle.

He needed to get out before he hit that self-destruct button again, and dragged beautiful, innocent Sasha down with him.

Scraping the chair back, he stood. ‘I've got to go.'

* * *

The school hall buzzed with thick, palpable excitement. A queue for entry had begun four hours before the doors opened and, judging by the din of chatter out there, the audience were just as excited as the performers.

‘George, Tyler, please stay away from the curtain. We don't want the audience to see you before the opening song—it'll ruin the surprise.' Keeping the kids focused was like trying to herd cats. ‘Let's pretend this is the actual competition instead of the fundraiser. Be professional and confident but, most of all, enjoy yourselves. Big smiles.'

‘Hey, Miss Sweet. Cute outfit.' There it was again. Behind her. That dark voice that made her weak-kneed. The press of his palm on her back. The scent that made her heart do loop-the-loops. She wasn't sure he'd even turn up after his disappearing act the minute she'd probed a little deeper under that thick skin of his. Even if he didn't have a sign round his neck flashing
keep out
, she'd certainly got the message.

‘Nate!' She pulled him to the shadows at the side of the stage, ostensibly to prep him for the show, but in reality to grab a few seconds with him, alone. ‘Do you ever approach anyone from the front?'

‘And spoil the element of surprise?'

‘One of these days you're going to give me a heart attack.' One day? No more days. Two more hours and he'd be gone.

And he looked awful. Sure, he was picture-perfect performance ready, and few would notice the dark shadows round his eyes, the clenched jaw, the hollowed-out cheeks. But she did. She knew enough about Nate Munro to read the signs.

‘Big night last night?'

‘Yep. And the night before...and the one before that...you get the picture. Too many early mornings and late nights.' How easily he slipped back into his life. At least he hadn't said
too many women
. For that she was grateful. He ran a hand through his masterfully scruffed hair. Which she would not touch. Would. Not. ‘Don't worry, I'll live, and I won't let you all down. I'm still match fit.'

‘Well, I suppose we should be grateful you're here at all, then, even if you do look like crap.'

‘Hey, steady with the compliments—you'll give me a big head.'

‘Very unlikely. Is it possible for it to get any bigger?'

‘I'll never have a big head with you keeping me grounded.' He grinned, but she couldn't help thinking his deterioration had something to do with their last conversation about Marshall. Clearly there was a lot more to the story than he was prepared to share. But it wasn't her place to ask questions and push him into a corner, she'd learnt to her cost—the last time that had happened he'd screamed at her about breaking trust. And then walked out of her life.

He grinned. ‘Excited about tonight?'

‘Yes. Very much. Thank you for doing this.'

‘My pleasure. To be honest, I wasn't convinced at first, but this whole experience has been...interesting.' His mouth twitched and his arm wrapped round her waist, pressing her long black silk dress to her body as he slipped a nonchalant kiss on her cheek.

The fingers of his other hand played with the way-more-than-she-wanted-to-pay professionally styled curls bouncing around her cheeks. ‘And just look at you, sweet thing. Amazing. You've done well for yourself—you should be proud.'

‘I am.'

Now his hand ran across the dip of her very bare collarbone sending hot shivers of desire arcing through her.

She reached to the zipper on his leather jacket, and looked up into his face wishing she could stop time and stay wrapped in his arms for a few more minutes.

For for ever? The thought shook through her. Once that had been all she'd dreamed of, but now it seemed a ridiculous idea. Things had changed:
she'd
changed. Moved on, wanted very different things. But it was enough to be the sole focus of those caramel eyes for a few more minutes.

She smiled, warily. ‘Listen, I'm sorry about the other night.'

‘Hey. Hush.' Pressing a finger to her lips, he stopped her. She remembered the way his mouth had fitted so perfectly over hers, how he had tasted. And her gut twisted with an ache for more.

He shook his head. ‘
I'm
sorry. It was my fault, not yours. I shouldn't have dodged out so fast, I should have stayed.'

Her heart squeezed. When? Ten years ago? Or the other day?

She laughed it off. ‘But that's you all over, Nate. Always rushing on to the next thing.' Always running away when things get tough.

‘I like to keep busy—it keeps me out of mischief. I could have done with being busy these last few days.' His eyes widened and she wondered what he'd been doing. But she had no claims on him.

‘Please, spare me the gory details.'

‘It's not what you think. The only...liaison...I had was with my old mate Jack.
Daniels
. We had some serious catching up to do. He's a good friend, but he does make my head hurt after a while.' As her blood pressure steadied he tipped his head towards the stage. ‘They look awesome. You're going to knock that audience's socks off.'

The choir had assembled ready to start, resplendent in their black tuxedoes. ‘Gosh yes, I'm so proud of them. They've come so far, and worked so hard. Tonight's just a first step on their journey.'

But for her and Nate it was the end.

‘Almost curtain up.' He winked as the front of house dimmed and an expectant hush shivered through the hall. Breathing deeply, he grinned. ‘Can you feel that buzz? Man, I love this stuff. Every. Single. Time. It's like a drug. It's what keeps me alive. Break a leg, sweet thing.'

‘You too.' She paused, and then words escaped her lips before she had a chance to stop them. ‘And then?'

It was almost a whisper, swamped as the music started to play. What she was hoping for she didn't know. A declaration that he felt the same way as she did? Which was unsure and rocky, but turned on. That he wanted to see where these feelings could take them?

She just wanted more time to...to what? To get to know Nathan all over again? No, to understand this new Nate. The man behind the public image. The one she was already too intrigued by. Mr Wrong.

And not a slipper in sight.

To hell with bloody slippers. A decision crystallised. Every look he gave her told her he wanted her. Even though he would leave. She was okay with that.

She was sick of being scared, allowing her need for control to define her. She would let go. Grasp the passion she'd denied herself for so long. Just once. Give in to dangerous temptation, then she could go back to her nice safe life where passion was a distant memory. Something other people did.

If he asked, she would say yes. She would take him for herself.

The curtain began to open.

He turned to her, his mouth kicked up in a smile that looked a lot like regret. Because, in reality she was way too late. The chances he'd offered her were now just a forgotten living-for-the-moment rock-star whim. He was probably already planning his next conquest.

‘And then, Sasha, I'm getting the first plane out of here.'

* * *

Once the applause died down Nate took the microphone ready to squeeze the appreciative audience for everything they had. If she wouldn't take a cent from him he'd make sure Sasha got what she needed and more, somehow. It was the least he could do before he headed back home to the States.

‘Thanks very much for your support, everyone. Weren't they amazing? There are some buckets going round for your donations—please dig deep. You know it's for a good cause. Let's get this choir to Manchester.'

‘Thanks. Wow. That was...bloody brilliant.' Sasha greeted him as he finally left the stage, her smile as bright as the spotlights.

‘Language, Miss Sweet. Brilliant? It was epic.' He fist-pumped the air in lieu of picking her up and hugging her. Touching her made him want her even more. He'd almost kissed her backstage, and that would have been a big mistake so close to leaving.

‘They were great. They did everything we asked, and more. Man, that was fun.'

‘Thank you so much. Just...thank you, thank you. We've made enough money to make Manchester a real trip to remember. It won't matter if we don't win the competition after this—it feels like we've won the jackpot already.' Tiptoeing, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. ‘They've excelled under your guidance. You're a natural with kids.'

At the briefest touch of her skin against his heat flared through him; all thought of the choir and the applause faded away. The rush of his usual post-performance heat hit Nate square in the groin, but, instead of being a need for a quick release, this time it was a long intense ache that threatened to overpower him.

The ache belonged to Sasha. Just her. Not the performance. Not the adoration from his fans. Just Sasha. Nothing else matched the adrenaline boost he got just being with her and he didn't want to lose that, not yet.

Her lips parted, just enough for him to see the tip of her tongue, the wet that he wanted to taste. Her breathing quickened and her gaze locked with his. For a nanosecond the air stilled and that invisible connection tightened around them, weaving in more complex patterns, snaring them like a spider's web, until there was nothing, no one in the world but them, caught in a magical sphere from which there was no escape.

The truth flickered in her eyes. She wanted him. And he wanted her. Wanted to kiss that mouth, to explore those curves. To lose himself in her.

But he'd already packed his bags.

‘Come with me.' His voice was more growl than groan as he pressed his mouth to her ear. For a second he thought he meant
back to LA
. Anywhere. But he brushed that idea away as too intense, too complex. He couldn't think past now. Here.